


Moon-Heavy

by QueenMonsterMouth



Category: Original Work
Genre: Enthusiastic Consent, F/M, Knotting, Teratophilia, Werewolf, cumflation
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-04-24
Updated: 2018-04-24
Packaged: 2019-04-27 12:38:08
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,601
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14425572
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/QueenMonsterMouth/pseuds/QueenMonsterMouth
Summary: The curse weighs on him, the moon brings only exhaustion and fear.She'd like to ease his burden. She'd like him to stay.





	Moon-Heavy

**Author's Note:**

> A gift for a dear friend's birthday!

 

It’s warm when she wakes, and she wriggles onto her back to stretch out her legs. She dozes back off again after a moment, too comfortable to be fully prompted into waking.

It’s likely an hour or so later that she’s roused more fully, thin streaks of winter-grey sun are creeping in through closed shutters and there’s a heavy warm weight on her stomach. She knows it’s Yami before looking, and the thought that this has become her morning routine is embarrassingly pleasing. He’s lying gracelessly draped across her lap on the bottom half of the bed, cheek pressed into the soft space just above her belly button and long-fingered hands curled against her sides.

Jun stretches for a moment, stilling when he whines against her sleep shirt. He quiets when she runs her fingers over his dusty brown ears.

_“I hate it,”_ he’d told her, teeth bared at his own reflection.

He’d never spoken of why but she thinks she has a pretty good idea. His kin are proud folk, and accept nothing less than a full and reverent embrace of the wolf that lives in them.

She can’t imagine how they’d treated him, her sweet boy, to have driven him so far from home and into her woods.

_The crows had told her first, and the dryads had begun to complain about the smell by the time she’d made her way back from the village square with a heavy pack full of new ingredients. It’s never been a secret to the woodland folk that her barn is always free for those who need it, and the cots in the hay loft see the use by occasional travelers of all species – though she flatly refuses to play host to the dryads’ many orgies, not after the mess they made the last time._

_He’d been frightened and weary, snarling if she drew too close. She’d left him food and blankets and expected him to be gone by the morning._

_She’d found a rabbit on her front porch the next day, and there was still a wolf in the old barn growling at her. She’d shared the rabbit stew with him and had even coaxed him into eating it with her in the hay loft, plying him with one-sided conversation until he’d relaxed his pinned ears and allowed her company._

_Each evening she’d gone to bed wondering if she’d seen the last of him, and each morning she rose again to find him waiting for her._

_He’d not been much of a talker at first but she’s managed to draw a few things out of him – his name is Yamimaru, he likes things with moving parts, and he wants his curse removed._

_The rabbits became deer after she’d complained off-hand that they kept raiding her garden and though the smell of blood makes her vaguely queasy she can’t help but praise him just to see his eyes light up._

_Cool fall nights had allowed her to entreat him into sleeping inside in front of the fire, and the image of him warm and safe and well fed brings her a feeling of such contentment it nearly takes her breath away._

_It takes her a while to realize that it might run just a bit deeper than taking contentment from caring for him._

_He talks to her more now, and she brings him to the village with her so he can pick out things he likes. She discovers that he knows a lot about the things he likes, and she’s so pleased to hear him talk about them that she ends up staying up all night on the couch listening to him talk about the weight-bearing capacity of wood versus bone._

_The next morning, he allows her to stroke his ears as he tentatively relaxes in her lap._

_Harvest festivals bring many customers, and Yami is endearingly patient while she works, fetching what she needs before she can ask for it and worrying over her hands after she’s singed them on a too-hot kettle._

_Winter slows down business, but brings her enough courage to return his daily gifts of fresh meat with kisses and soft declarations of fondness and finally –_

_An invitation to stay._

_She’d never planned on asking him to leave but it feels right to offer him a permanent place in her home (and her bed) for as long as he wants them._

It’s late winter now, and soon spring will bring her business back with lots of monsterfolk frisky after the last of the lingering snow leaves. She wonders if Yamimaru will be among them. He’s always eager to please her, always meets her touch halfway in helpless eagerness that makes her melt, but there’s something nice about the thought of him taking her to bed and breeding her in the spirit of the season.

She runs her fingers over the back of his neck just to feel his tail thump on the bed as it wags. He mumbles something that doesn’t sound like words and shift restlessly into her hands. It’ll be the full moon when night falls, and she feels the strain it brings. He sleeps less, stays out later hunting, brings her more fresh meat than he does ordinarily. He stays close to her, but doesn’t touch her, and flinches from her advances.

She’d like to get up and fix whatever he’s brought her in the night for breakfast, but doesn’t want to interrupt his already uneasy sleep. So, instead, she runs gentle fingers through his hair to pick out the tangles and pine needles as he snuffles against her belly. He’s managed to ruck her shirt up enough that his nose presses into her skin, just enough to make her fight off laughter.

His agitated shuffling does not ease even after she’s stopped fluffing his fur, his twitching fingers grabbing at her hips and pressing her against him. His snuffling grows more insistent and he noses at her shirt and over her belly, tail wagging lazily. She worries for half a moment that despite his waving tail that he’s having an unpleasant dream – though the worry abates a moment later when his hips twitch against her shin and he lets out a long sigh.

He does it again, and growls something low, and abruptly her brain catches up to the situation – she’s caught between a surge of unbearable affection and embarrassed arousal as he ruts harshly against her leg.

She attempts to squirm out from under him – partly to help him, partly to help _herself_ – and the growl returns. This time deeper and more insistent. Jun has to bite back a yelp as his claws dig into her hips, and spots of drool speckle her belly.

He’s grabbed a mouthful of her shirt between his teeth, clamping down in an effort to keep her still. His brow is furrowed in almost comical concentration and she wonders briefly if he’s actually awake.

“Yami,” she calls him, and his hips stutter almost helplessly, growl trailing off into a soft whine. “Yami, love, it’s alright”.

His ears pin flat to his skull and he presses his face into the soft pudge of her tummy, driving his cock faster in a frantic pace.

“Yami, sweet boy,” she tells him. He groans, rubbing his face over her belly and hips, smearing them with drool and oily pheromones. This is familiar, he’s done this before by running the underside of his chin and soft patches of his cheeks over her skin. To keep others away, he’d told her. To make sure no others took advantage of his absence on the full moons to take what isn’t theirs.

“Sweet boy, you’re doing so well,” she tells him, softly. She strokes his ears, cradling his head as best she can and running her thumbs over his cheeks. He cracks one brown eye open at her words, whining as she smiles down at him. He pants, open-mouthed against her stomach, breathing her in and trying to pull her closer. “Good boy, Yami.”

He groans deep and loud at her praise, grinding down into the wet spot he’s created. His spine arches stiffly as he drives the length of his cock against her leg. She squirms a bit underneath him, but does not make a move to touch herself – this is not about her.

She watches his face twist as she gives him gentle encouragement, relaxes into his hold and lets him take what he needs. She loves how gentle he is with her, but like many other full moons before this one, she wishes he’d let her help him. Both for him, and for the piece in her that wants to _know_ , wants to hold all of him in her hands and love each piece of him as it comes. Of course, that piece is backed by several other selfish pieces that want to _feel_ and _experience_ , want to take and be taken, want to let him take what he needs from her. The first few times she’d asked him if he’d like to stay, he’d turned so quickly to self-loathing that she’d not touched the subject again. She’d simply waited on the steps by the door each night with a blanket to at least let him see and smell her, to wrap him up when he stumbles exhausted into her arms come dawn.

“Yami,” she calls softly, and he must hear the difference in her voice, because he raises his head to look at her, mouth open and breathing heavy. “Yami,” she strokes over the ridge of his brow, across his cheekbones. “Yami, stay with me tonight.”

He stills like she’s hit him, eyes wide. He looks frightened, and she rushes to pull him to her even as he goes to move away.

“Yami-“

“Jun, it’s-“

Her mouth snaps shut, waiting for him to speak even as he struggles for words.

“I’ll – I’ll _hurt_ you.” He says against her belly, voice small.

He may have a point, Lupan are not known to be gentle or reasonable during their change. But it’s already a possibility she’s considered and come to terms with. _More_ than come to terms with. She’s got a small bottle of Stretch that she’s been hoarding since she made the last batch – just in case, she’d told herself. Just in case.

“I wouldn’t… mind that, necessarily.”

He makes a half-choked whine and his hips drive into her shin reflexively.

“Yami,” she calls him gently, as he shivers in her hands. “Yami, it’s alright. Take what you need, sweet boy.”

He does, and he comes against her a handful of frantic thrusts later with a drawn-out whimper.

She lets him retreat away from her with a half-muttered excuse after he changes clothes and eats something, letting him put the distance he needs between them to make a decision.

 

-o-

 

He makes himself scarce for the remainder of the day, bolting outside when he gets the chance and vanishing among the snow-heavy trees. She doesn’t mind, she has preparations to make.

The small bottle she’d hoarded had felt smaller than she remembered, hadn’t felt like _enough_ – so she’s making more. Just in case.  

She pulls out what she’s gathered for the potion she needs – this part, at least, is easy to navigate. She knows this, can do this. Trusts her own skill. She’s not tried it in this capacity, but she’s gotten nothing but glowing reviews from the centaur maiden who’d requested it – and her human lover.

A bit of spider silk, a bit of honey, a long slow boil over calm embers. _Stretch_ is not hard to make, but the nuance is in the ingredients and the patience during brewing. The latter, however, leaves her at the mercy of the long, uncomfortably silent hours before nightfall. There’s bread in the pantry, meat and cider in the cellar. The wood’s been split and stacked, the crows in the barn fed and cozy. She’s swept and fussed until she’s run out of things to fuss at – she’s changed the blanket on her bed out for her coziest fleece, then changed it again to the one Yami likes, the smooth quilt in autumn browns and oranges.

She _wants_ this, wants it in the worst way – but the silence is deafening and quiet doubts are creeping up to nibble away at her want, replace it with hesitance and doubt.

Performance can be improved upon, actions negotiated, she can put her heart into everything she does. _Yes,_ says the weight in her stomach, _but what if it’s not enough?_

_What if he realizes that he’s been holding your heart in his hands and doesn’t want it?_

She’s made tea while she’s had idle hands, the motions so practiced that she barely notices when she pulls down two cups. She makes both anyways. Just in case.

 

-o-

 

Night falls, and frost creeps along the edges of the dark windows. The _Stretch_ is bottled and in the nightstand drawer, the hearth fire is merry and well fed.

She’s gotten so irate with herself for jumping at every noise like the expectant maiden she admittedly is that she’s herded herself to the couch with a blanket and a book – not that she’s really reading it. She’s been halfheartedly scanning the same diagram of hellbore flowers for as long as it’s taken to burn through two oak logs and replace them with more. Being in the bedroom was making her too antsy, nervous and oversensitive to every shift and movement – frustratingly fixated on whether or not he’d be able to smell how ready she is for him, or whether she’d taken herself in hand before he’d arrived – so she’d made a tactical retreat to the living room.

She’s given up waiting on the porch like she usually does, too cold for that now. She’s given up watching through the frosty windows, it’s much too dark to see into the trees by the light of the moon where she hangs full and heavy in the night sky.

  The house is cozy, warm, and clean, and she’s three cups of tea into her vigil. It’s enough to make her nod off under the best of circumstances, and she yanks her head up from where she’d been dozing on the arm of the couch when she hears it –

The sharp tapping of feet – of _claws_ on her porch.

She nearly stumbles over feet not ready to bear her weight, rushing to the door where she can hear claws fumbling with the latch, pawing to get in.

She pulls the door open –

There’s a moment where they both stare at each other, shocked by the other’s sudden presence. He’s much larger than she thought he’d be, muzzle level with the doorframe, her entire field of vision taken up by wiry strength and sable-brown fur. She watches, heart in her throat as his eyes change from startled to _possessive._

He lunges for her, teeth closing around her shoulder and his sheer weight dropping her to the floor with such vigor that she can’t imagine it won’t leave a mark. She yips in pain both from the bite and the cold floor hitting her back, and he bites harder, growling a warning and drooling over her skin where he’s gripped her.

She squirms for a moment to try and re-position his teeth but he’s clamped his jaw and refuses to budge from her skin, giving a nasty snarl when she tries to move from under him. She goes limp in his hold after a moment, and after a long minute passes, he seems content that she’s not going anywhere and slowly, slowly withdraws his teeth in favor of pressing his cold nose to the soft underside of her jaw and snuffling there for a moment.

Even as his claws prick her skin where he’s grabbed her forearms, she relaxes into him. The scent of him is familiar, if stronger, and the warmth of him against her is a comfort after a long day of being alone. She’d been afraid, at first, that he might not recognize her, or might ignore her completely, but the way he’s scenting her throat has warmth blooming in her stomach.

“Yami,” she calls him, and a brown ear flicks towards her. “Yami can we close the door? It’s cold outside.”

He continues to smell her, running his nose over her neck and licking until the skin there is pink and raw – she’s not sure if she’s being ignored or if he hasn’t heard her, but her toes are getting cold and she’s prepared their bed just for this.

“Yami,” she whines at him, partly needy and partly petulant. He growls and closes his teeth around her neck – more gently this time, though she can still feel the solid curve of his fangs over her pulse. “Yami, can we go to bed?” He grunts and lifts his weight off her (though she misses it immediately), tugging her up by his grip on her forearms and neck, arranging her like a favorite doll against his front.

He doesn’t immediately go to the bedroom, but instead lays her down on the kitchen table. His eyes are bright with something she can’t name, but the possessiveness never left them, it makes a shiver run up her spine. He stalks slowly around the room, sniffing and huffing. When he’s satisfied, he turns to the door, rubbing his cheeks and jaw over the wood of the frame, smearing it with musk and scent. He pads back out the door, turning his nose to the cold wind and scenting, breath puffing clouds of fog into the night.

He then squats and urinates on the wood of the porch.

A jolt of heat up her spine snuffs out any protest, the sheer territorial nature of the act almost as arousing as the act itself. She gets to her feet, albeit a little unsteady with anticipation, ready to shut the door behind him, when there’s a thunderous growl and teeth digging into her neck once more. She’s roughly shoved back onto the table where he’d set her, the set of his jaws around her invoking immediate obedience. She lies compliant and biting back a whine as he holds her down until he seems satisfied he won’t be disobeyed again, then he releases her to shove the door shut.

She’s flat on her back on the kitchen table, and she can feel him examining her – can he smell her? What does she smell like? The cold of his nose makes her jolt as it presses into her thigh, but the heat of his tongue follows. He smears the pair of old pajamas she’s wearing with globs of spit as he bathes her legs, staining the faded fabric dark. He runs from knee to hip, ankle to knee. It might be relaxing if she weren’t already tense with hours of anticipation. She has to bite back soft noises when he bathes her inner thighs as well, the heat of his mouth palpable even through thin flannel and making her squirm against him.

He’s got to be able to smell her, she must be obscenely slick by now. She wriggles under his hold to spread her legs wider for him, and he bathes the junction of her pelvis and thigh with single minded intensity. When he presses his nose to her cunt she almost cries out in relief, arcing against him to entreat him further.

“Yami-” she calls, “Yami, please!”

His hands can wrap nearly all the way around her thighs as he holds her still, breathing her in and rumbling so deeply his chest vibrates with it. Jun whines when he pulls away and leaves her wanting, but his teeth are on her neck once more and then he’s pulling her off the table with almost frenzied movements. She yelps, his teeth are sharp and he’s not particularly gentle in his enthusiasm, but he seems beyond noticing now so she hangs limply In his grip and lets him half-carry, half-drag her further into the house.

 

-o-

 

It’s a relief to be shoved onto the bed, her neck and shoulder sting and burn in the way that promises bruises later. He seems almost frantic in his movements, tossing her onto the bed to sniff around the corners of the room and shove the bedroom door shut.

Can he tell she’s spent hours in here today? Pacing with nervous arousal and lying flat on the bedsheets in the nest she’d prepared for this, plump and soft and ready for him?

He’s stalking around the perimeter of the room, watching her with wild eyes, red tongue lolling as he pants. He snarls, impatient, as she sluggishly pulls her shirt off, hazy with want and residual pain. He’s pacing now, every motion sharp and just barely restrained.

She can see now where his cock hangs heavy against the fur of his hindquarters, thick and dark with blood where it’s eased from its sheath, jerking as he catches her watching him. She lays flat to tug her pants down over her hips, and he’s on her before she can get them past her knees. 

The bed frame creaks under his sudden weight as he bounds onto the bed, grabbing the loose fabric of her pajama bottoms and pulling them off with such force that she hears the seams pop. He licks a stripe up her midline from her navel to her throat, up her cheek and across her smiling mouth. She opens for him, and nearly gags at the force with which he shoves his tongue in. Her eyes water as his tongue rasps against the back of her throat, and she struggles to lie still under him.

When he draws away, he’s all she can taste – syrup-thick drool coats her tongue and teeth in the taste of old blood. He jostles her roughly, and she yelps as something drags a slimy path over her lower stomach. Her whole field of vision is taken up by bristly fur but she doesn’t have to look to know his blood-thick cock lies across her. The _size_ of it! It makes her shiver with want and nerves, it must be as long as her forearm, and as thick as a fist – the thought of it, of taking him in and letting him breed her _burns_ , and she whines, pulling his ruffled mane until she can kiss and suck his panting tongue. He jostles her again, pushing his cock into her soft belly like he just can’t help it, jerking his hips into hers in short, frenzied motions that smear her belly, thighs, and cunt with viscous slick.

She lets him take his pleasure, running her hands over the thick fur of his neck, shoulders, and sides, allowing him to crush her into the bed until all she can see and smell is him. She whines as her body rages, her insides feel cavernously empty and pathetically swollen, all she can think about is how much she wants to watch him fill her.

He pulls away abruptly, motions almost violent, and gives a deep snarl – his eyes burn with frustration, and he grabs at her roughly with his jaws, nipping harshly at her breasts and arms until he finds a solid hold with his jaws around her neck. She yips and flinches at the rough handling, and cries out at the slow burn of pain that follows. Pin-pricks of broken skin and the heavy thudding pressure where bruises will later bloom fill her awareness, but the pain adds to the burn under her skin, adds to the giddy arousal that swells to the surface at the thought of lingering marks, brands she can’t remove that showcase his use of her body –

He lifts his hips, cock trailing strings of murky slick from where it’s pooled on her belly. Again, he hunched forward, but this time feels different – he thrusts with purpose and force, and groans around her neck as the pointed tip of it catches somewhere on her inner thigh.

He’s mounting her, and she _wants_ , and she cries out weakly as he just barely misses her weeping cunt, slipping down to rut into the space between her ass and the bed.

She throws a hand out blindly, pulling at his snout and attempting to wrest his jaws from her neck. He tenses his grip, but yields under the gentle pressure of her hands, pulling away and tucking his muzzle towards his chest. His eyes burn with frustration and the sharp jabs of his hips slow into short, miserable jerks as if he can’t quite stop himself fully.

She takes his trembling muzzle into her hands and kisses it. Kisses up his long snout and curls her hands into the fur of his cheeks, pulling him down until she can kiss between his eyes and over his forehead.

“Yami,” she croons, voice rough. “Let me help.”

She can run her hands over his belly fur now that he’s not crushing her, and she does so as she grabs the bottle off the nightstand and drinks every drop, lets the magic settle, thick and sweet in her stomach.

His whole body is quivering, and she soothes him with soft words and kisses. She runs her hand down over his heaving belly, and trails her fingers through the tacky fur. “Good boy,” she tells him, and rolls onto her stomach underneath him, propping herself up on her knees to reach back and spread herself open for him.

“Yami,” she entreats, and he needs to further prompting. He immediately mounts her again, grabbing her waist in a crushing grip and yanking her back towards him, his heavy torso pressing her into the sheets and cock jabbing forwards with renewed vigor against her guiding hand.

She’s so slick for him that the first few inches slide in without catch, and he gives a gravely howl at the feel of her, crushing his hips to hers in an unstoppable forward motion.

It burns in a way that makes her clench around him and makes her legs tremble – there’s no other word she can think of but _divine_ , god she’s so full, so stretched around him but he gives her no room to form thoughts beyond that as he starts a brutal, hammering pace.

He’s desperate for it, and she can do nothing but take what he gives and howl her pleasure from under his bulk until she’s hoarse and seeing spots.

She quakes violently, finding enough trembling strength to rock back to meet the vicious force of his fucking, so fully at the mercy of his desire to _breed_ her. She doesn’t know if she can handle it – her cunt is so swollen and stretched so wide around him, so _full_ of him – but she doesn’t know if she can _wait,_ either. Her breath burns in her raw throat, and she calls his name with what little she can spare.

He’s clamped his jaws over the back of her neck, grunting and huffing as rivulets of drool slip past his teeth and run over her collar.

“ _Yami_ ,” she whines, high and desperate, and cums sobbing and writhing – clenching so hard around him that he yips and grinds deeper into her, spreading her so open she can barely breathe and pushing so deep that she feels raw and distended in the _best_ way.

Normally she’d be done, but with Yami, with _Yami_ she simply rocks back to meet his frantic thrusts and comes again on the heels of her first, so hard she can feel her release dribble down her thighs. She’s babbling incoherent praise to him when she finds the breath to speak, knowing only what what’s audible is spurring him on – if she pressed a hand to her belly she could probably _feel_ him inside her under her sweat-slick skin, might even be able to feel the heat that radiates from his cock like a brand.

Her third climax is almost violent, she seizes and clenches around Yamimaru’s pistoning cock to the point of pain, wailing until she has no more voice to do so, panting and sobbing as he snarls above her. His thrusts grow shorter, more forceful, more _purposeful_ , and she gives a soft broken cry as she feels his knot brush the outer folds of her cunt as it begins to swell for her.

God, it’s going to _ruin_ her, going to push the limits of even what _Stretch_ can help her achieve. She can’t wait.

Grinding turns into one long, heavy _push_ , his knot flirting with her entrance as he fights to tie with her. She feels her overstuffed pussy struggle to open further for him, she wants to push back against him but her body is taxed beyond her limits and her legs do no more than tremble weakly when she tries.

The sheer force of his pushing demands that her exhausted body give in, and helplessly it does. There’s a flush of pain so bright and hot that it forces all the breath from her lungs – and as quickly as it comes, it’s gone.

He’s inside her, she’s _so full_ she feels like she can’t breathe in at all, like her lungs simply can’t expand far enough to meet demand.

And then, Yami is coming for her. Jun hadn’t been expecting to be able to feel it, to be able to feel each long burst of cum fill her but she _can_ and does, and it’s nothing short of divine. She wants to tell him so, wants to share her delirious joy with him, but she can’t force out anything more than a soft whisper of his name.

After a moment of rest, Yamimaru removes his teeth from where they’ve rested against her throat and pants, open-mouthed and drooling. He stands, dragging Jun with him - to which she gives a weak noise of protest and pain as she struggles to support herself on more than just his knot.

He lifts a leg and sniffs at her cunt, tonguing over where they’re joined and she can’t fight back the broken moan as his long tongue rasps over her puffy, tender clit. Whatever he finds must satisfy him, because he gathers her up and rolls onto his side, licking the sweat from her hairline and arranging her like a doll so she’s half-underneath him, settling a heavy arm over her waist and the weight of a leg over the top of her thighs.

Jun is warm and safe and _so full_ ¸ and once she’s caught her breath she sinks into his warmth. The rhythmic clench of his hindquarters as he continues to fill her is soothing, and exhaustion pulls her under.

 

-o-

 

When she wakes, the light of the oil lamp has burned so low she can barely make out the room in the dim, red glow. Yami is still with her, still draped over her like a living blanket, and she can still feel the press of his knot, the steady pulse of his cock. She feels strange, and she feels like this is what woke her – she feels _heavy_. She feels _hot_. Even now she can feel her cunt flutter around Yami, and she runs her hands down her body to feel where they’re connected, but stops.

Just under her ribs, her soft stomach is now drum-tight and round. She trails her fingers over the crest of her bloated middle. Yes, that’s certainly attached to her. That’s without question her own tummy.

She breathes out, unaware she’d been holding her breath. She should feel fear, she thinks. Maybe even panic. But all she feels is a strange, warm sense of awe.

She’s full with Yami, and he’s still filling her. She’s cradling his seed safe and warm in her body, and she’s being kept safe and warm in turn by the one who bred her.

The thought makes her shiver, and she runs her hands down, around the swell to where her swollen, raw pussy is stretched tight around Yamimaru’s knot, runs her fingers over her labia where she’s freshly wet and tender.

Jun runs her fingers over her clit until she cums once more, muscles straining and trembling while she peaks almost gently. It makes Yamimaru whine in his sleep, shifting to cover her more fully and grind his knot into her more firmly.

He settles a huge, furry paw over her swollen belly, and she watches the glow of the lamplight until it winks out.

 

-o-

 

It’s warm when she wakes in the half-light of the grey hours of early morning. She’s sore in too many places, the kind of sore that will be painful when she gets up, but for now she can rest. There’s a warm human body at her back, an arm slung loosely around her waist, and soft breath in on her neck.

Her cunt is empty now, but her womb is still full, and she rests her hands over it with a kind of warm-hearted longing. She shifts out from under Yamimaru’s arm, and sits up to bring the blankets up over him, brush his hair back from his sleeping face and stroke his cheek.

She maneuvers the bulk of her belly between them, and settles in on her other side facing her lover.

They’ll need to talk and heal and fuss over each other tomorrow. But for now, in the silver hours between night and day, they can rest. For now, it’s just them and the warmth of the bed.

She presses a soft kiss to his forehead, cradles her belly, and sleeps.


End file.
